Faux
by 3arlGr4y
Summary: Even the most adamant of stones melt under loving heat.
1. Chapter 1

**F A U X**

_Not genuine or real; being an imitation of the genuine article_

_Synonyms - Imitation, simulated, fake, false _

_artificial, unreal - contrived by art rather than nature.  
><em>

**By 3arlGr4y**

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><p>As a child, my teacher tried to do something very inspirational for us one day. Seated in a classroom, we were told something special was planned, and everyone was excited. She brought in a balloon, limp, empty, and pretty saggy looking. It looked like a colorful sack of nothing. At first the class was disappointed. The teacher asked what everyone thought it was and what it represented. Everyone knew what it was, but nobody knew what it was a metaphor for, not even me. She then blew it up using a pump, and it created a very large balloon. It was multiple colors and very appealing. If you don't have the "air", which the teacher substituted for "self esteem," we would be small and sad like the balloon in it's inflamboyant state.<p>

Everyone was really inspired, but it didn't really click well with me. Watching that balloon, which she taped to the classroom wall, deflate day after day from the inevitable release of air depressed me. All I got from the experience was that self esteem didn't do much but make people falsely large for a little while. That exemplifies a lot of things now, as the young adult I am now. People around me, my city, my friends, my enemies. They're all puffed up with self esteem and confidence, but many of them were starting to deflate. Either that, or they were already sad and limp. People just rub me the wrong way now a days. Behind all those grand ideas of a better life, they're just desperate to be remembered. Desperate to keep their withering balloons alive so they can feel important for a while. Sometimes, it's just classic bullying. People put others down to make them feel better about themselves. This happened to me a lot as a kid, and sometimes even now, for the color of my hair and my dull looking face. I couldn't help it, but they still needed to use me as a pump to fill their balloon with air.

It doesn't matter. Things will never change. Eventually, you're entire existence will be reduced to nothing, and you can't fight against that. Just a cardboard cut out.

Faux.

A lot of people assume I'm a pessimist because I think this way, but I'm not bothered by that. It's easier to live life if I don't have to worry about changing the world. That way, I can focus on what I want to focus on, and fraternize myself with activities that I enjoy, one of them being music. I play the cello and the piano, exemplary instruments for an average musician. I've also created numerous singles using technology as well.

They're all solos.

That fact doesn't bother me. Adding other instruments to the equation often complicates things. If one portion goes out of sync, everything falls apart, which is why so much effort goes into things like orchestras, bands, trios, symphonies, and quartets. It says a lot about my opinion on humanity as a whole.

I knew it myself. I decided. I didn't see much point in it, but I really wanted to enjoy myself as much as I could. Many people say you live life for certain reasons, and mine I was going to dedicate to nobody but myself. Yeah, I still have friends, and people who I see in favor. But they're lives will end too. We'll all just return to the dust we came from.

I'm Drake Wright. I'm a single guy, about 20 years old, living on the end of a rather empty neighborhood. I went to college for a year, earned somewhat of an education, and now live off of a job as a janitor at the local clinic, and a salesman at a convenience store on the other end of the city. Life is pretty grey and washed over for me. I often find myself repeating the same process - wake up, go to work, come home, do stuff, sleep. Often times I dub "do stuff" with practicing music, playing video games, or browsing the net. A recent fad that has been introduced to the world was My Little Pony. I didn't mind it much. It's not like I actually followed the fad, so why should I patronize it like others? I wanted to enjoy the simpler pleasures in life. I had a steady income and not much of a goal to look forward to, but I was living my life a day at a time.

The rest of the city is pretty quaint. The crime rate is high in various parts of the dark bunch of alleyways and roads that incorporate a settlement. I've settled in the safer area, but you can never be sure. This city was populated for all the wrong reasons, and I ever since I came to realize this, I've gotten bad vibes from this wrecked utopia. But I can't afford to move to some other place. At least not yet. And besides, nobody bothered me in my house at the end of the block, so I really didn't feel all that disturbed. It was like living in a dying city - I rarely went through a new day without hearing news of a robbery or murder in some school or apartment, sometimes only a few miles away from my residence. Back when I was a kid, everything was much brighter. The streets were alive with people who looked content, who wanted to be there - green trees, colorful flowers, and healthy grass. I guess the balloon just..

..lost air.

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><p>I didn't get much sleep the other night. Then again, I never get a ton of sleep. I developed a habit of sleeping late and waking up early as a kid to watch early morning cartoons and to finish composing pieces that took me the night to complete. I can say that a lot of my music as a kid was nonetheless novice work, but still decent. As usual, I washed up. After putting some water on my face, I gazed blankly at the mirror. My eyes looked empty, like you would fall straight into them and never come back out. When I was younger, I thought it looked kind of cool, but soon, many others around me perceived it as creepy. My hair was a combination of blue and grey - washed over and dull, like the city I live in. I put some clothes on, ate some cold bacon and went to work. Winter was pretty darn cold in this city.<p>

The sky was a depressing gray, and the snow was still falling from last night. A thin layer of snow had formed over the crumbling cement that made the streets of my hometown. After several hours of strenuous selling of merchandise and cleaning of windows, I walked home, my feet trudging along the street, leaving a thin trail of footprints. But I brightened up. Today was Christmas Eve! Even though there wasn't much to look forward to, I still was heartened by the spirit of Christmas. Celebrating it with my family was fun. Now a days, I mostly had private celebrations unless a friend invited me to a party.

I took my time walking home. After all, I wasn't in any rush. My breath simmered in front of my face into a foggy vapor. I took a shortcut around the nearest alleyway, when I heard various voices shout out. Before I knew it, a flurry of snow met my eyes, and something hard hit me in the stomach. I doubled over, almost coughing blood from the impact of the hit. I fell to my knees, only to be shoved over by a pair of hands to the right. I slammed into the brick, ice cold wall of the opposite building. I was dazed with pain, but it didn't stop.

"Yo guys, get this guy over here!"

One by one, the amount of punches and kicks aimed at my face and chest grew. I tried to defend myself, but my arms and legs were quickly bruised from shielding my chest. I was lifted by the shirt, a thin guy with a shaved mohawk and a lip piercing gave me a threatening snarl.

"Who said you could just walk in on our crib, huh?"

I couldn't respond. I was catching my breath. Bad choice, I got a hard punch to the cheek, sending me almost flying into the wall again. Various bystanders whooped and egged him on.

"You gettin' robbed, nigga!"

"Mmm! How does it feel, son?"

"Dyed his 'hair blue, the emo cunt!"

I couldn't think of any way to get out of this. My forehead was bleeding, and I felt like all the bones in my body were fractured. In blind confusion, I picked up a steel pole leaning on the side of the wall and swung wildly. I must have gotten a good hit, because the grip on me was released. I quickly used this chance to blindly shove my way past the lowlifes and run.

"Yo, catch that nigga!"

I could hear the crunch of the snow, the others running after me. The cold was unbearable, but I didn't stop running. Cold sweat ran down the side of my cheek. I was quickly running out of breath though.. my oxygen was depleted from the beating. I needed a way to lose these morons, and fast. The split second they lost sight of me, I slipped around the corner, and slid against the ice-cold wall. They all ran straight past as I panted to catch my breath. Their echoing shouts and screeches, I could still hear for miles. My neck was frozen, my eyes were dilated with exhilaration and pain. I checked my body to see for any signs of permanent damage. It hurt to walk. It hurt to breathe. I was shivering uncomfortably, but I trudged along, trying to make my way back home. Snow was falling quicker now, but I couldn't stop. Stopping in the middle of nowhere in a city you couldn't even recognize was only asking for more trouble. Eventually, my legs couldn't support myself anymore. I tripped and fell into snow.

It was cold and wet, but I couldn't feel it. My very fingertips felt raw with cold, and my entire body felt numb. Was I going to die here? The jacket I wore was ragged and dented, and couldn't keep out the scalding winds that scorched my body, especially in the places I was bruised. I lay there uselessly, my arms and legs uselessly dangling there like extra baggage.

I don't want to die..

_I don't want to die.._

Suddenly, a noise reached my ears. It sounded high pitched. I raised my head, trying to get a better view in the snow. A few feet away, I saw a cardboard box.

It squeaked.

I paused. Did the box just squeak? Suddenly, I was aware that something inside was moving.. what was it? And how did it talk? Struggling, I tried to get to my knees, but only succeeding in falling forwards a bit. Now that I was closer, I noticed something small, yellow, and pink crawled out of the washed over brown box. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. I knew what I was looking at.. but I couldn't process it. The fact that it was there, that it even existed, surprised me.

Staring at me with hurt, somewhat teared up eyes was a small filly. But it wasn't just a horse.. it was more bright, more animated, and looked like it came straight out of a.. cartoon?

She had a pink mane and a yellow frame. I thinked hard and tried to remember her name.

Rainbow Dash.. Rarity.. no..

"Fluttershy," I spoke, without thinking it.

She perked up. The vanilla-colored pony recognized her own name. She could understand me - but she didn't say anything back. I hesitated, then, reached out with a single, thin hand. She clenched her eyes and tensed, suddenly very scared. I felt her mane. It was soft unlike anything I had ever felt before. It was there - real. Fluttershy stayed fearful for a moment before relaxing, and eventually, actually smiling at me.

Suddenly, I couldn't help it. I smiled too. But a million questions were running through my mind as I stroked her head. How was she here? Why was she here? Despite looking very happy, she shivered uncontrollably. I sympathized with her - the snow was still falling, and the temperatures were freezing. I couldn't leave her here.. so I picked her up, took off my overcoat and wrapped her around in the soft linen. As cold as it was, I felt a warm spread to my fingertips that I hadn't felt before, and I found the strength to stand. As I held her in my arms, I realized that she was really chilled to the bone. She was shaking like she had never felt so cold in her life, but the heat eventually seeped through. Fluttershy fell asleep - eventually, her head dropped on to my arm, and her body rose and fell with her breathing. It pained me as a young adult to think this but I couldn't help it. She was unbearably cute. I looked around. I was only a little bit away from my house. After a few minutes, I walked to the front door of my home. The porch was decorated with some christmas lights I bothered myself to set up. I gave my house a look over. I wanted to take good care of it - it was like preserving my memories of it with my parents, keeping my dreams alive by not letting it fall to the standards of the city I lived in.

I pulled out my keys - fumbling with them and inserted one into the lock. I paused. I felt like I was about to enter a life that I would never be able to escape from. But hey, it wasn't plastic. Nothing about it was falsely large or anything. It was my responsibility to now take care of Fluttershy, and I took it upon myself. Heck, I didn't know anything about that children's show, nothing about taking care of others.. but she saved me. I didn't know how, but she rescued me, and it was now my turn. Nothing about that is faux.

I turned the keys and opened the door.

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><p><em><em>-Sidenotes<em>_

__This was a sort of rushed intro, but hey, I tried to produce an interesting effect. ____So here you go, all. A fic some might call a variation of My Little Dashie with Fluttershy. That's totally okay- that's where I got my inspiration from. However, I want to make this story unique and original in it's own way, and not just a sequel.__

__I've seen A TON of these out there, but I haven't really read a good one. Or at least, one that I think is interesting enough. So here's my go at it.  
><em>_

_Side sidenote: I DON'T SUPPORT VIOLENCE OR RACISM SO PLEASE DON'T HIT ME_


	2. Chapter 2

Fluttershy was shivering uncontrollably. I had no idea how long she was out there.. it could have been hours, maybe days. Would she freeze to death if I didn't do something soon? Her eyes were clenched shut. She was still asleep, but pained by the cold. She whimpered and buried more deeply into my overcoat, which provided minimal heat. I felt like I was holding a slowly dying child. For a moment, all I could do was stand there and hug her tightly, trusting that my heat would reach her. Eventually, the warmth reached her, and the shivering stopped. I sighed.

Quickly, I slammed shut the door behind me, shook the snow off of me, kicked off my sneakers and flicked on the lights. I didn't even take off my coat nor my messenger bag. The house was mildly warm compared to the absolute storm of ice and cold outside, but it was still chilly. I carried the vanilla-colored foal into the living room, where my fireplace was off to the side of a television and a healthy looking christmas tree. It took me a moment to settle down, I used the one hand that wasn't used to hold Fluttershy in one hand to iron my forehead. Let's start with basics, Drake..

It's Christmas Eve. Your watch tells you it's around half past nine. Your nationality is English, your blood type is O+. You reach about 5 feet and 10 inches in height, and weigh to 132 lbs. You have currently come home from work for christmas break, and on your way, ran into some random gang and got the crap beaten out of you, escaped, and tripped over a cardboard box that was housing..

I looked down in my arms. It would have looked like I was cradling a ball of linen, but inside was none other than Fluttershy the pegasus, the vanilla-colored pony from the cartoon. I only remembered her faintly from seeing a few pictures of the show in bland curiosity. But then, I thought her as no more than a work of fiction on a screen that men from ages of 16-30 enjoyed. How wrong I was. I switched the lights on and walked into the living room. The house was fairly small, but it fit my family. Now it was a lot more spacious - I sometimes berate myself for appreciating that.

But they had to move on, and so will I. There was a slightly worn out, but sturdy couch along the wall, centered in front of a coffee table and a television set. With no clear idea of what I was supposed to do next, I sat down on the couch and placed Fluttershy next to me. She had woken up now, the sudden light arousing her slumber. She rubbed her eyes with a foreleg and looked around. Her large and curious eyes inspected everything with a particular interest, including my face.

I gazed at her with a blank look, and she stared back. I crossed my arms and shut my eyes in concentration. Although I took it upon myself to let her in.. what would I do now? Would I have to take care of her forever? I have no idea how or why she was sent here, so sending her back is a non-option. I opened my eyes, only to find the foal right up in front of my face. I was mildly surprised, but I didn't move. Upon doing so, she raised a hoof and poked one of my eyes.

What the hell? My left eye stung for a moment. I covered it up with a hand, giving Fluttershy a perplexed look. What did she want so badly that warranted a poke to such a sensitive spot?

She was still looking into my eyes curiously. Then, I realized, she must have been curious about their empty quality. Funnily enough, this small yellow pony was the first to look at me straight and not look away in fear. She didn't think my empty eyes were creepy or spooky - she found them interesting. I guess she was wondering wether she could enter them or something - which I often contemplated whenever I looked in the mirror as a child.

I smiled and sighed. Upon seeing me smile, Fluttershy did so as well. I decided to test something.

I pointed to myself. "Drake," I said, clearly trying to introduce myself,

The small foal tipped her head, confused.

I tried again, "My name is Drake."

She brightened suddenly in understanding. She pointed at me with a small hoof and said, "Drake!" in a small, barely audible, innocent voice.

I grinned and pet her. She nuzzled my hand, enjoying the attention.

To be truthful, I had no idea how old she was. At first, it looked as if she were incapable of speech. The more I studied her, the more I realized that she seemed more like an infant to me. However, she could walk, and somewhat talk, so I assumed she was around 5 or 6 years old. She was very small - about twice the size of your average football. She had wings, but it appeared that she was unable to fly, as they fluttered helplessly whenever she attempted it. Afterwards, I gave Fluttershy a small look at my home. It wasn't anything much - a kitchen, a few bedrooms and bathrooms, a living room, and some other essential house parts. The rooms where my parents once resided were dusty, dark, and desolate. I decided that trying to keep those rooms looking alive would be like trying to keep my parents alive - an impossible feat. After she was done exploring, we got something to eat. On the usual nights, I simply ate something from a fast food restaurant or microwave a package. However, I usually cooked something special on nights where I felt like cooking.

I'm pretty sure Fluttershy wouldn't be too pleased by the sight of a Big Mac.

I got out some vegetables, spices, and other miscellaneous ingredients and started cooking. After letting it simmer for a while, a took a sip. It was at a good temperature, and the flavor was decent. Fluttershy watched me with mild interest, sniffing at some of the vegetables I was cutting up. This was a soup my mother often made for me, and after watching her do it so many times, I eventually learned how to make it myself. This is something I am deeply grateful for - making it, eating it each time made me remember her.

I poured some onto two dishes and served one to Fluttershy. I sat on one of the stools edged up against the counter. Whereas she was too short, and simply sat on the counter itself. She sniffed it carefully, unsure of what it was exactly. It must have smelled nice, because Fluttershy then took a hesitant sip. A smile grew over her face, and she ate more enthusiastically. Seeing someone eat my cooking so happily made me happy. My mother often said the same to me, and now I felt her happiness.

I rested my chin on my palm and gazed at the eagerly eating foal.

"Just how on earth did you get here..?"

I was now pondering back on my decision to take her in. Sure, it was a good thing to do for her, but how long would I have to take care of her? Wouldn't she be better off in a happier town with a person of a better understanding of her? Why me, and why this city, of all places?

"Does it taste good?"

She looked up at me and nodded, grinning. I smiled, and dispersed all other thought. Those were hypothetical questions, and despite them being fairly accurate, I couldn't do anything about it now but deal with the situation at hand the best I could.

After eating, I pondered on what to do next. I found myself suddenly wanting to do everything I could to please Fluttershy, which was amazingly different for me. I didn't want to please people. They didn't deserve it, and what would I gain in return? But this was different.. she was practically just a kid. I usually didn't enjoy anything much on Christmas Eve's but my peaceful solitude. So, like on other nights, I went to the living room and pulled out my violin. Fluttershy trotted after me, staring curiously behind my back. I leaned against the piano, and began to play Mozart's concerto no. 4 in D minor. The yellow pony looked bewildered as the sudden, mellow sound of the strings reached her ears, but eventually, her eyes were transfixed on me, hanging on every note I played. She was an extremely good audience, and even clapped - or clopped - for me once I finished. It made me truly happy to see anybody - anypony - appreciate my music, and enjoy my playing. Seeing her smile almost made me feel like I was a kid again, playing for friends, family, relatives, an audience.

It was now nearing bed time, and I was lodged on the sofa, reading a book. Fluttershy had interested herself in the bright christmas tree, pawing - or rather, hoofing - at the various ornaments and lights I set up. I had to eventually lift her up so she could inspect the star at the top. With this in mind, the thought of christmas came into my head. I didn't normally get gifts, and I normally didn't give gifts either. I wondered if Fluttershy knew exactly what holiday we were celebrating. I didn't have any gifts to give her, and I suddenly felt bad about it. It's not like I was planning to house anybody in particular that night, especially not a cartoon. As I read, she explored the rest of the house. I figured it was a better idea, letting her go on her own. I could tell she was a timid one, so letting her find her own way around would be a much more comfortable option. I could hear the light sound of footsteps - or rather, hoovesteps, as she carefully tiptoed on the floor above me.

Eventually, I decided to switch the lights and head upstairs. Fluttershy trotted after me, yawning inaudibly. I kept my room reasonably comfortable. It was pretty homey - my desk was lodged in one corner, my bed in another, a few book cases off to the side and a clutter of notebooks and various items in an unorganized, but small pile in the waking. Fluttershy suddenly looked awkward, slightly scraping the ground with a fore hoof as she stared down. I tried to adress her,

"It's alright, you can sleep on the bed."

She looked at me worriedly. Fluttershy could probably tell that I was putting in effort to ensure her comfort, but I didn't mind, and I let her know with a nod and a smile. As if contagious, she smiled as well, and trotted up to the bed. Being her size, I had to help her up. She walked around on the bedsheets before taking residence next to my pillow. I changed into my usual nightclothes - which ended up being a pair of shorts and a short-sleeved, buttoned down dress shirt and got into bed. I yawned. The night had been strenuous for me mentally. I didn't know where this would go.. but I took on the responsibility. Fluttershy gazed at me curiously in the dark of the room, everything in complete silence except for the soft breathing from both of us. She paused, then slowly crawled over, and settled a little closer to me. Her body felt very warm. I turned to face her in bed.

It may be just me, but, maybe this responsibility thing wasn't so bad after all. Swirling feelings of content filled my heart as my eyes slowly shut. She wasn't just some pony I had to take care of. She was a faithful audience, an humble friend, and a kindly soul.

"Sweet dreams."

_"..You too, big bro.."_


End file.
